Sketch
by Khermione
Summary: Snickers When CSI Las Vegas is the only department willing to take the case, Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes are sent to investigate the death of a young woman in the small mountain town of Hickory, Arizona. This tiny speck in the vast wildness encompassing
1. Chapter 1

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Summary and Warnings 

This is a Snickers story. In other words, the pairing will be between Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle.

When CSI Las Vegas is the only department willing to take the case, Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes are sent to investigate the death of a young woman in the small mountain town of Hickory, Arizona. This tiny speck in the vast wildness encompassing the southern boarder of the Arizona Strip conceals a great many secrets and conceals them with ease. Can Nick continue to conceal his?

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DISCLAIMER 

Ask yourself this question….If I actually owned CSI, Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes, Nevada, or Arizona….why on earth would I be writing a story to publish on (which I also do NOT own)? Exactly. I don't own much of anything so please, don't sue me?

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Sketch Chapter 1 

Feathery wisps of fine textured dust dance and swirl, ends tapering to sharp tongues lapping at the dry heat above the unpaved main street of Hickory, Arizona. The few lights of this minuscule mountain town reside more than one hundred and fifty miles to the northeast of Las Vegas, more to the east of "Sin City" than to the north. She is nestled in the wilderness, surrounded by life and drenched in the sun but her silent winds are that of loneliness; her refuse in shade washes despair over any that venture there. But this misery is never immediately evident to the few and far between visitors.

They see the deep canyons and valleys cutting away into the earth; they see the distant horizon lined by blue mountains in the north and breath taking color schemes at sunset and sunrise; they see mysteriously abandoned mines and empty sheds but they only see what their eyes will allow them. They smell the baking of dirk, sand and shattered Anasazi pottery with the midday sun; they smell the dry heat itself, and feel the refreshment of spring water slicing through rocks.

This place holds more than what their eyes can see, more than can the touched, held or conquered. Something unholy inhabits the empty spaces here, weighing down the air, carrying all ill intended whispers and silencing the most fierce of screams. Only time and the darkness of vanishing corners can give this sickness the needed consent to burrow into a living creature.

Nick Stokes glares at his cell phone in a vain attempt to will away the 'roaming' icon that seems to have taken up permanent residence across the display. 'Roaming' has effectively dissected him away from the real world outside of this hidden town and left him waiting in the entrance of the only motel-like ordinance within at least 100 miles, without his partner and no sign of her approach.

Although, this is a different sort of entrapment from that which plagues his nightly excursions into dream land, it still offers very little comfort. Trapped is trapped regardless of the size of the box. A thought occurs to him _At least this time I was in a box _and before he can grasp it, the notion is lost in the way that most pleasant dreams fall away in the morning sunlight.

"Ain't no tower 'round here," a woman's voice informs him thick with the rasp of a long time smoker.

The Texas native turns his attention to the owner of the cryptic statement to find a forty-something nicotine addict waiting patiently for him to offer up some sort of response…equally as cryptic, "I beg your pardon?"

"A tower," she enunciates none too effectively, "Fir yer phone there. Most folks haff-ta use them satellite cell phones 'round 'ere if they ain't got a land line."

Albeit begrudgingly, Nick does allow the tension in his body to fall away so that his facial expression doesn't betray his unease as he listens to the colloquial speech from the woman behind the make-shift counter of the "Hickory Mountain Pass Inn." She is a relatively short woman not much over five feet tall with a rosy moon shaped face, short pudgy fingers, an evident knack at cross stitching, and if her label has anything to say about it, her parents blessed her with the name Linda-Maye.

"None-the-less, I 'spose yer in search fer a place-a stay tonigh'?"

Her question is quickly followed by a wide smile and a hopeful gleam in her eyes…a look that in a fairly disturbing way reminds Nick of his Aunt Kathy's golden retriever. Imagery, being a strong suit for him lately, nearly floors him with an image involving nicotine flavored dog biscuits and hoola-hoops. After forcefully stuffing back this image, he briefly considers a possible future in the use of antipsychotics before fielding his reply.

"I sure am Ms. Linda-Maye! Two of your finest if that wouldn't be too much trouble?"

"Ah, see, here's the thang…. there's only the one," She answers with a mix of frustration and hesitancy.

Nick glances back at the completely vacant parking lot and then to the room-key infested wall behind Linda-Maye. He raises an eyebrow in question. _This could be interesting, _

"Just the one?"

"Yes, the one."

"You only have one room left available?" Nick asks as Linda-Maye follows the young man's gaze to the plethora a keys lining the wall behind her.

"Actually, it's jus' the one…total," Linda-Maye answers and continues quickly inadvertently explaining her earlier frustration, "We are remodelin' the otha' rooms and my ignert husband has not got the time ta finish what he has started but he shur' has the damned time ta watch the tube aAAaaalll damn day!" She ends her tirade with a bright red face and a balled up fist banging on the counter that perfectly hides the ding of the front door swinging open.

"One'll be fine" Nick answers quickly and rather quietly to avoid further conflict and watches as Linda-Maye turns to fish out the only key to the only open room available at the Inn.

"What have you done now, Cowboy?"

Sara's quiet, low, yet undeniably sexy whisper sends a tortuous wave through his body that serves to curl his toes. Of course it would take a day or two burning in the pits of hell to admit to this unnerving fact; a fact that he has been very effective at squashing to the back of his conscience for quite a long while.

Yes, yes, yes… being buried alive did teach him that life is short; God it's short as hell. The more important thing is that it also taught him a few other, more illusive, idioms about life and living it.

Simply put, Death is bad. Death is usually associated with pain and therefore pain…is bad (Generally speaking, pain is pretty bad without the death element but this is a progressive logic we're working with here so try staying on the side-walk and off the grass. We have a box here and we don't need to think outside of it). To recap, death equals bad, death equals pain, ergo pain equals bad. The scenario expands when taking into consideration that he Nick has a seriously dangerous attraction to his partner; the kind that doesn't shake; the kind that holds on like a pit bull locks down on a T-Bone steak. Yeah, it doesn't sound all that romantic but at least it is the truth and that is enough to make it pretty dang scary. Furthermore, he knows good and damn well just how much love can rip a person apart and being ripped apart is pretty easy to associate with pain. In summation, death equals bad, death also equals pain, pain equals love therefore, love equals bad and, if this is so and the depth of the feeling has any significant influence at all, loving Sara Sidle falls into a category of unmentionable corruption.

"Here ya are," Linda-Maye cuts in before Nick can blurt out a response to the brunette bombshell at his right and hands him a key to room number five, "Miss, can ah help you?"

"Oh, no thanks," Sara responds with such a level of respect inherent in her voice, she could say just about anything and be appreciated for it. It's a concept difficult to express like the awe of a magnificent sunset or the exhilaration of a thunderstorm but Sara has a way with the tone of her voice that is more powerful than the words she chooses to speak. She can make you feel accomplished or down right ridiculous effortlessly and seamlessly within the span of just a few moments. It's sometimes a bit frightening that she has no idea of the effect her voice can have on a person. She simply doesn't realize that she has managed to dissolve many situations (including this one) that would have, if otherwise managed, escalated out of control.

"Actually, Linda-Maye," Nick interjects when he finally recovers the ability to do so, "We're looking for Sheriff Wakefield. You wouldn't know where we could find him would you?"

"'Course ah can," Linda-Maye answers, her face darkening a shade or two as her anger starts to resurface, "Four doors down on the right, the lazy basterd's prolly watchin' TV right now!"

"Uh, yes Ma'am" Nick answers and quickly regrets it as Mrs. Wakefield continues to fuss about Mr. Wakefield.

"Thank you Mrs. Wakefield," Sara voices sincerely as she steers Nick out the front door by his elbow and waits for the door to close behind her before deciding to continue, "Nick, I think you may have hit a nerve with the Wakefields"

"Ya think?" he asks feigning bewilderment with a grin.

"I think, that woman was about to get violent with you," Sara answers with a small smile lighting up her features.

"Linda-Maye? Violent? Never!" Nick counters as he opens the driver's side door of his Tahoe.

"Why, thank you Mr. Stokes," Sara grins as she climbs into his seat, "She nearly had her fist through the counter…you gonna get in or…."

"You're in my seat, little missy and maybe that counter deserved it, it may be an evil counter," Nick replies using a wave of his hands for emphasis before moving to rest his forearm above the driver's side doorframe and tilting his head to watch Sara's reaction. All the while, he is completely oblivious to what his nearness is doing to his partner.

"An evil counter…the woman beat up an evil counter and it's my seat now. Besides…." her grin falters a little when he locks his eyes with hers. Without warning, her mind runs off without permission and evaluates quickly that, despite the subject matter, his eyes are pooling deep with emotion, multiple, drastically different emotions. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise with pin pricks glancing across her shoulders; it's almost as if she can see straight into soul of the man in front of her.

"Besides?" he asks stoically abruptly and with a blink slams her window to the sight of his turmoil.

"Besides, I have your keys," she answers recovering her stance on the situation with a toothy grin and dangles the keys out of his reach.

"You little thief! How on earth!"

"Will you get in!" Sara asks spilling laughter into every syllable, "and don't you dare try crawling over me!"

"Damn" Nick fires in return before trotting around the car and jumping in.

"Well, I think, I could'a taken her…." Nick states as he shuts his door.

"Ya think?" she replies as she starts the engine.

"No, not really. Actually, I'm not too sure I could handle the counter. We really should notify the CPS"

"The child's protec- oh….Nick, that is…oh that is just awful," Sara responds shaking her head slowly as Nick laughs, "The counter protection services? Quit laughing," she demands biting into her bottom lip, "Quit it, what is wrong with you!" but she can't help it, his laughter is contagious.

**TBC...**

**CSI CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**** CSI**

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runs out to Jeep...returns with axe...string of four letter words...glares at computer and pats flat side of axe against open palm Now, I know that my loving fiance built you...out of Legos and you're really damn cool but if you don't shape up...so help me GOD...I will destroy you. 

looks up Oh...howdy yall...drops axe and smiles sorry 'bout that… This is the first thing I've written in a VERY long time so….benefit of the doubt please?

Oh and if anyone would like to help beta the next chapters...PLEASE let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

First off, there are some Thank Yous in order!

**_SaraMel, Saeo, PandorasHollow,_ JBH, heartagram69, missiemeghan, snickerscsilvr2000, rojaji, brocco23, toomanyobsessions, MeganT **Thank you all so much for the review! Your kind words really helped me to get this next chapter out! There are a few notes for ya'll at the end!

Now, sorry it took me so long to update….Medical School is a time draining 'profession'….can I even call it that…I guess it works….a little bit…OKAY on to the story!

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"_Actually, Linda-Maye," Nick interjects when he finally recovers the ability to do so, "We're looking for Sheriff Wakefield. You wouldn't know where we could find him would you?"_

"'_Course ah can," Linda-Maye answers, her face darkening a shade or two as her anger starts to resurface, "Four doors down on the right, the lazy basterd's prolly watchin' TV right now!"_

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**Sketch Chapter 2 **_Four Doors down on the right…_

"I'm sorry y'all, the Sheriff went t'answer another call. Is there something I can help ya with?"

He's a young man, couldn't be more than twenty-five, with shortly cropped dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that you'd expect to find on the cover of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog as opposed to gracing the face of a small town deputy. None-the-less, here he sits, answering questions before they are asked. With a grin stretched ear-to-ear, he studies the pair of CSIs from his seat behind the expansive breadth of his desk. The deep cherry oak desk serves to exemplify the decorum of the rest of the station with impossibly dense features including the short legs and thick writing surface.

"Maybe, Deputy…?" Sara asks fishing for a name from the undeniably attractive young man.

"Wallace, Deputy Wallace," The young man answers with a self satisfied smile as he rises from an exceptionally thick oak chair and reaches an open hand across his desk. He doesn't bother being discrete about dragging his eyes over Sara Sidle from head to toe as he flashes her with an 'All American Boy' toothy smile. A smile is more than it takes to prompt an instinctive urge in Nick to knock a few of _Deputy Wallace's_ shiny white teeth out of his blond little head.

"Well, Deputy Wallace," Nick interjects pulling the deputy's attention away from his partner and grabs a hold of his hand clamping down with a _little_ more force than is entirely necessary, "I'm Nick Stokes and this is Sara Sidle. We're here from the Las Vegas crime lab-"

"Oh, right, of course," the deputy cuts in while tugging his hand away from the CSI's vice-grip, "th' Sheriff said ya'll'd be showin' up sometime soon"

He motions to the furniture around his desk, "Grab a seat, can I get ya' some coffee or something?" he offers blatantly addressing Sara like she is the only one in the room.

Ever the gentleman, Nick quietly slides a chair to his partner and waits for her to sit before pulling up his own seat. It's a very good thing that Nick Stokes is capable of functioning on autopilot, even now, when he is desperately fighting to keep his emotions under some semblance of control. He feels precariously close to an invisible edge that, in the past, hasn't been particularly problematic but for some reason unbeknownst to him, today (of all days), his thought processes are running amuck, completely blind to the logical wishes of his frontal cortex.

Astonishingly, while chaos is threatening to overcome Nick's delicate psychological balance, Sara, one of the most emotional human beings he has ever met, seems to be at insurmountable ease.

"That's alright Deputy Walla-"

"Jake, please. I think the only one that calls me Deputy is my little sister," the Deputy interrupts with a sweet smile that prompts an irrational tirade on the part of one, Nick Stokes CSI Level 3. He'd like to ask _Jake_ what the hell that last statement was supposed to mean….

Sara shouldn't refer to _Jake_ as _Deputy_ because that would be too _sisterly? _Well, it's pretty damn obvious that _Deputy Jake_ has very un-sibling-like motivations where Sara is concerned…so of course that's what the hell he means…Christ Stokes, pull it together…..but did _Jake_ or did _Jake_ not, JUST introduce himself in a sickeningly Bond-like fashion as _Wallace, Deputy Wallace_. Shit. That's it. The son of a bitch wants to sleep with her.

**I'll kill **_**him**._

"Well, Jake it is then," Sara corrects with a small smile and continues, completely unaware of the ticking time bomb in the seat to her right, "Would you be willing to catch us up with some of the details about what's happened here?"

Jake settles himself back in his chair while Nick bites down on his lower lip to keep from muttering _"Yeah, fuck-stick. The dead girl should be the priority here."_

"Absolutely," Jake answers flashing yet another wide grin before sliding a manila colored folder across the table in front of him and moves into a summary, "The deceased is…." he pauses and takes a breath as Nick works to refrain from grinding his teeth, "The deceased was an 18 year female, Clara Brook. She was reported missing by her parents, Cindy and Robert Brook, last Thursday afternoon when she didn't come home from work-"

This time, Nick fails to circumvent his newly onset rashness, "Last Thursday!" he barks, "Why wasn't there a report filed until early this morning?"

"Now, hold on there just a second my man," the deputy counters with his blue eyes narrowed, "We're on the same side here, Clara was my sister's best friend, and I want answers just as much as anyone!"

Less than a year ago this conflict would be quite a bit different. Sara would most likely be the passionate aggressor while Nick would be there to settle the outburst. Today things are obviously altered as Sara discretely lays a gentle hand over Nick's forearm before offering a response to the fired-up law enforcement officer across the table.

"We understand that Jake, but there must be some reason that the Sheriff decided to wait more than the standard forty-eight hours to contact us."

Truth be told, Sara is momentarily taken aback by her thoughtful wording. She would be the first to admit that, in the past, she hasn't been the best asset when it comes to personal interaction but she had just sounded like a seasoned pro. Maybe spending a bit of her extra time at Saint Vincent's was actually doing more than appease a guilty conscience.

Sara's bewilderment covers the soft rush of breath that escapes Mr. Stokes when her long fingers unexpectedly curl around a portion of his forearm. The heat crashing through his body reveals to him that it has been quite a long while since the last time Sara Sidle touched him in this manner. It's a touch of purely innocent intention but in this moment he couldn't trust himself to speak if it meant his life. Then, just as he can literately feel a part of himself breaking apart, her touch is gone and reality closes in around him. He is being irrational and he knows it. He was thinking like (and on the verge of acting like) a completely selfish asshole and he certainly knows that. It's in rare moments like this that Nick really wants to be capable of operating heavy machinery under the influence of narcotics - get the calm sans the out-of-body experience part.

"Yeah, I get it, and I'm sorry for the outburst. This whole ordeal has been very…. It's been very difficult," Jake responds offering sincerity in his demeanor and shows as much in his eyes that are, for once, directed towards Nick. "I assure you, the moment the Brook's reported that Clara was missing, the paper work was filed. Hell! I was the one that took their statements! The carbons of the original request forms should be in that folder," he finishes with a motion towards the folder now resting open in Nick's lap.

Nick nods in affirmation before his reply, "This request was cancelled less than an hour after being filed. What changed?"

"Deputy Thompson, and before you ask he's out with the Sheriff right now. Thompson radioed in with another missing teenager, Rayne Beaumont (Clara's boyfriend) along with Mrs. Beaumont's X5 BMW and a couple hundred dollars in cash. Th' Sheriff cancelled the request under the assumption that the two teens were together and phoned ahead to the Arizona state police with an All Points Bulletin on the missing SUV," Jake shrugs his shoulders in a moment of defeat. It is a gesture that Nick knows very well, a look he's seen before and as much as he wants to hate the guy, Deputy Jake Wallace really isn't the horrible bastard that Nick wants him to be.

From what Nick had already gleamed from the police report in his lap, _Jake _had vehemently opposed the Sheriff's decision to terminate the outgoing request. In fact, the young deputy had been rather vocal about the issue, which explains a few things…. For instance, the impeccable orderliness of Jake's desk, the filled garbage bag leaning against his wastebasket, not to mention the fact that he seems to be the only one left in the office.

"I take it boy and car are both still missing," Nick states after briefing looking up and away from Clara's file.

"No one has seen or heard from him since the night before Clara vanished," Jake answers.

"Has anyone talked to Mr. Beaumont's parents recently?" Sara chimes in from Nick's side.

"Thompson talked to his mother last Thursday-"

"Yeah," Nick confirms holding up a couple yellow sheets of paper, "Here's the transcript," he then passes the documents to Sara, taking care to avoid coming in contact with her skin lest falling into the game he was losing a few moments earlier, and continues to address the Deputy, "His father is deceased?"

"Yeah," Jake answers with a hint of remorse in his voice, "happened about four years ago…air force guy said there was some sort of heavy equipment malfunction or something like that."

Something inexplicable twists inside Nick's chest eliciting a brief wince in response. It's something he feels that he _should_ understand, much less recognize, but he has no idea where this sudden unnamed emotion came from.

_Great, just great, crack out the butterfly nets and straitjacket, I've come unhinged, cheese slid WAY off the cracker, funny farm here I come, I am the Walrus Coo-Coo-Ca-._

"What about Clara's parents?" Sara asks having finished a quick run through the interview transcript, "Have they been questioned since…?"

"No, actually…they uh, went to Vegas with Clara," Jake answers

"Vegas." Nick replies working hard to keep an underlying tone of exasperation out of his voice. The twist in his chest gives away to a rapid succession of revelations clicking across his thoughts but as soon as he tries to grasp on to a picture long enough to understand it, comprehension is violently ripped away.

After working as a CSI for more than five years, Nick had come to believe that he had fallen into a routine that allowed him to be maximally efficient in his investigations. Like so many other things in his life, the comfort of that routine had been obliterated months ago. Yet, in the disorder of the past year a new methodology has slithered its grip around Nick's life.

The most intriguing departure from the old, has been the complete absence of what he used to consider structure. Deductive reasoning had fallen to an intrinsic wordless dialog leading him to make seemingly absurd demands from the components of each investigation (like now, for example, following some _arbitrary_ air force statement, he feels a requirement to learn the exact status of the body). Furthermore, endpoints have been settling in his mind far too rapidly, yet the disturbing part has been the accuracy of such seemingly random conclusions.

Although he emphatically refuses to acknowledge it, not one of his cases over the past year has ended in a manner that truly surprised him.

"Were pictures taken of the body and crime scene?" Sara asks interpreting Nick's quiet brooding as well placed frustration with the course of the investigation.

"I believe so but I d-" Jake offers as a partial answer before he is interrupted.

"How long ago?" Nick asks as his thoughts focus for the first time since arriving to Hickory.

"I'm….sorry….um… What?" Jake questions, his face mirroring Sara's.

"How long ago did they leave with the body and do you have a phone that will have a signal?" Nick answers in a driven tone completely different than his voice was five minutes earlier. His posture is flipped to a determined stance; now he has an attainable goal.

"I don't know for sure, I'd say they left 'round nine, ten hours ago-" Jake answers and is interrupted yet again.

"Doctor Robbins," Sara states simply and graces Nick with an appreciative smile.

"Exactly," Nick answers with a blandness that Sara has come to dread hearing and continues with an air of authority she would never have expected from him, "Deputy. Phone."

"Yes sir," he replies instinctively adding the salutation, "We have a few spare satellite phones behind the counter up front. Batteries should be charged."

As Nick swiftly makes his way to the front of the station, Sara can't help but stare at his retreating form and wonder. She used to think that she had some-what of a handle on Nick Stokes, that his emotions no matter how detrimental, were convoluted into everything in his life. Convoluted, but under control. She loved that about him: that he could feel so deeply and express so freely. But now? Every situation is the same in his reactions. He starts out with his old façade of carefree Nick (a characteristic Sara was never quite able to believe). The lie moves gradually into a ferocious anger coursing through him until he completely shuts down, closing himself to the world. He was never carefree but now he's changing into something terribly self destructive right in front of her eyes and she doesn't know what to do about it.

"Is he always so…well…"

"Abrupt?" Sara finishes for the deputy but doesn't turn to address him, "He has his moments."

"Here, let me draw you a map to where they found Clara," Jake offers and when she turns to face him, motions for Sara to come around to the other side of the desk as he gathers a blank sheet of paper and ball point pen, "It's not exactly easy to find…..or easy to get to and you're gonna need some climbing gear and…well time."

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CSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSICSISnickerSCSI

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"Hey, Doc, how's it going?" 

"Ah, Mr. Stokes nice of you to ask," Dr. Albert Robbins drawls, "I believe that a number of crimes comparable to that of **every** criminal act that occurred in Las Vegas over all of last year has managed to culminate into a period of the past three days," Dr. Robbins answers, his exhaustion evident in every breath.

"That good huh?" Nick replies trying to lighten the conversation as much as possible.

"Oh it's like Christmas in here. I've been opening up bodies for thirty hours straight and new contestants just keep rolling on in," Robbins answers before moving the phone away from his mouth briefly in order to instruct the driver of a so called 'new contestant', "No, no, not over there, I need to be able to get to the scales. Try back by the south wall…your other south"

"Oh boy" Nick sighs and starts to drum his fingers against the counter immediately starting to consider his options.

"Nick, what can I do for you?" Dr. Robbins asks.

"Yeah, looking for some information on a vic. 18 year old female, Clara Brook"

"Ms Brook," Dr. Robbins repeats to himself running through the past few hours in his mind to place Nick's victim, "Clara, yes, she's been here for about two hours which puts her about…. oh, twenty hours out."

"Good…God. You planning on taking a nap in the morgue?" Nick asks as his mind wraps around a contingency plan.

"If the shoe fits," Dr. Robbins drones in response, "I'm sorry Nick but there really isn't much of anything I can offer you about your vic. at the time being"

"Not a problem Doc but I do have an idea," Nick states as a thoughtful expression clouds his features, "Can you send the body to another medical examiner?"

"Well, I know a guy in Phoenix but I don't believe he would appreciate-"

"No, no. Is it possible to send the body out…quickly?" Nick replies trying to make a few quick choices about how he should proceed. With time being the most overwhelming issue he should go ahead and have Las Vegas send the body to Galveston and hope to God that Katya will take pity on him….

"Of course, but I need to know where to send it…quickly" Dr. Robbins answers.

…but sending the body without clearing it with her first could turn out very poorly.

"Yeah," Nick answers and pauses to collect his thoughts, he really doesn't have a choice, "Okay, you ready for the address?"

"Go ahead"

"Name is Katya, K-A-T-Y-A Stokes, M.D., University of Texas Medical Branch, Keiller building…"

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"Do you have any other suspects?" Sara asks after looking over Jake's map a third time, "Someone where she worked or here in Hickory?" 

At first Jake offers a short mirthless laugh as his eyes momentarily focus beyond the station wall facing the street. When he comes back to the conversation his eyes are hazed to a dull blue and his face is drawn haggard revealing his age…but there's something else, something still buried behind his eyes, desperate and painful.

"Ms Sidle, people don't come to Hickory for the scenery…"

Unsure of how to respond Sara unconsciously furrows her eyebrows together in question.

"Look," Jake continues, "there's no phone company, no water company, no electric company…. Everyone here has to provide for themselves and no one that lives here is exactly hard up for cash. We're not on any maps; God knows how the two of you found us. This place _is_ nowhere and rich folks don't go to nowhere if they haven't got something to hide.

_ Everyone _in Hickory is a suspect."

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A cacophony of sounds scatters from the phone following the final ring of Katya's cell. Nothing in particular is a distinguishable noise that he can even begin to place but this sort of greeting isn't _so_ out of place to be worrisome. 

"What the-"

"It's raining…." A female voice answers and then continues with a definite stream of annoyance, "and it just so happens that every vehicle on the island fixed with a siren is showing it off in front of the house."

Then, as if to solidify the drama in Galveston, Texas, an unnerving crash shakes the Victorian style home Katya Stokes is renting, sending her dog into hysterics and actually causing a brief click in her cell phone connection.

"Jeeeee-sus," Katya mumbles, "That one gave me goose bumps…. Nick-o, sorry 'bout the noise so what's up?-oh, wait, hold on for a sec-" Nick can't help but chuckle at the next predicament he overhears as Katya moves the phone away from her mouth, "Hey, guys, is there uh, any particular reason my dog is covered in pink highlighter?" a pause follows within which he expects some sort of answer was offered, "Yeah, aight…I'll uh, get you a new one?…sorry 'bout that Lucia"

"The mutt ate a highlighter!" Nick exclaims and leans against the counter at his back.

"Not too surprising, that dog came equipped with two neurons held together by a spirochete," Katya deadpans, "But I'm pretty sure you're not calling about the mutt."

"How's the Captain?" Nick asks with the hint of a smile across his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Conversation with Katya via phone has never been very easy for him. They had always been able to communicate much more effectively face-to-face and now, adding to his discomfort, he needs to ask her for help.

"Jack is fantastic. The tourists love him and he reveals in the attention," she answers amicably but it doesn't take much to see through her brother's niceties, "Nick, you're stallin'. Spill it."

" Uh, yeah, actually I was wondering if you would consider doing me a bit of a favor…well, doing Sara and me a bit of a favor-"

"Whoa, wait a second here… a "_favor" _for you **AND **_Sara_…I'm not gonna have some horrific mental image burnt into my retina am I-"

"Kat, knock it off will ya-" Nick growls.

"I'm just sayin'-"

"Yeah, I get it, shut-up, this is an actual, serious request!"

"Serious," Katya fires back, "Check, got it, go ahead"

"I need an autopsy," Nick answers with a plea in his voice.

"I hate to break it to ya, but that really isn't my expertise," Katya answers without missing a beat.

"Well, it should be AND it_ **is**_ your roommate's expertise," Nick replies hopefully, "Vegas is swamped they aren't going to get to the poor girl before tomorrow evening, we are out in the middle of no where without a cause of death to consider, it's at the very least a six hour drive to get back to Vegas or I'd try to get-"

"Nick, she'll do it," Katya answers as another click interrupts the line coinciding with the thunderstorm pummeling the island in the gulf coast, "However, that was a lovely tirade though…you feelin' alright?"

"Thank God," Nick mutters and continues, "Yeah, I'm great, just a little pressed for time."

"And understandably so" Katya offers in response and pauses to give her brother a little time in silence to consider telling her the truth about his state of being before deciding to continue, "What kind of details can you give me?"

"She'll arrive care of the Las Vegas crime lab, Doctor Al Robbins-"

"Wait," Katya mutters through a snort of laughter, "Dr. Robbins?"

"Yeah, what's funny-?"

"Robbins…it's ironic," she answers around her mirth and continues when he doesn't respond, "See, the definitive text of medical pathology is Robbins Pathologic Basis of Disease.".

"Katya….a history lesson?" Nick counters not bothering to hide his exasperation but can't help letting a chuckle loose regardless of the fact that he has no idea what his sister is talking about. He grew up with her laughter; laughing to the point of tears; anyone with a brother or sister knows that the genuine laughter of a sibling is a very powerful thing.

"Right," she counters no longer laughing but a smile still evident in her voice, "I meant…Is there anything in particular you want us on the look out for? Specific toxicology screens? Injury patterns?"

"Uh, lets see here…." Nick lets a long breath out and sighs, "We really don't know much about what happened or even what kind of kid she was…we jus' got here."

"Nice," Katya answers, "Must 'a been a hell of a drive to get there"

"Damn straight it was. Tox. for THC would be a waste of time but if you can try to get a blood alcohol, that might be a good idea, if she hasn't been _gone_ too long."

"Thoughts? Suspicions? Nick I know you have them," Katya probes.

"I, uh. This place is a bit hard to get a grip on," Nick answers and rubs a hand down his face, "She's 18 didn't come home from work…her boyfriend is still missing… I don't know if he's responsible for this or not…."

"Alright, that tells me, we need to keep a few things in mind: sexual assault and activity, physical signs of drug use and assault…then of course there's cause of death, time of death, etc. Why don't I give you a call when we get into the swing of the autopsy?"

"My cell doesn't work out here," Nick replies and smiles as he watches Sara approach from around the corner.

She leans against the counter beside him with a perplexed look gracing her features and concentrates on the wind collecting dust out in the street

"I'm on a satellite phone," Nick continues, "When I can get to something more permanent, I'll call you."

"Sounds like a plan," Katya answers, her voice sharpened to what Nick knows as her Enough with the phone, I gotta get back to work tone.

"Aight…take it easy,"

"I'll talk to you later and say 'Hello' to Sara for me," Katya requests with what she must consider an obvious unspoken implication.

"What?"

"You're smiling…makes you sound different…" she answers.

"Riiiiight, G'bye Kat" Nick fires back in a patronizing voice.

"G'bye Nick."

Click

To be continued...

* * *

**_To my peeps!_**

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JBH** blushes Wow, thank you so much! I'm glad that you caught the sarcasm! I hope you'll like the chapters to come! Awesome review!**

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**MeganT** Yep, I'm continuing it! I'm just a little slow sometimes…

_**You guys kick so much ass! Thanks again!**_

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